Fifty First Times: Brittana Style
The Best of Friends
Pairing(s): Brittany/Santana, Santana/Quinn friendship, briefe reference to Mike/Brittany friendship
Rating: PG-13 (some swear words)
Spoilers: All episodes (Just covering my ass).
Disclaimer: Don’t own. Just borrowing. (Again, covering my ass.)
Summary: In any universe, regardless of the circumstances, Brittany and Santana are inevitable. Watch me prove it.
--
“Thanks for shopping with us. Have a nice day.”
Santana handed the lady her change and then promptly unscrewed her jaw, her face morphing from a cheeky grin to a grimace.
She hated working in this stupid store with these stupid customers and these stupid store managers with a tendency to walk into inanimate objects.
Actually, there’s only one store manager that does that.
One more year she thinks, rolling her eyes as the automatic doors chime, signaling yet another patron.
“Well, I don’t know what that look’s for.”
Santana pauses mid-frown and then smiles wide, her eyes finding another pair glittering in amusement.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to rescue you,” Quinn says, walking over and pulling a pair of sunglasses off of a mannequin. “These are kind of cute.”
Santana nods. “They look good on you.”
“How much are they?”
“Eighteen fifty.”
Quinn promptly drops the glasses. “They’re not that cute.”
Santana snickers, eyes darting up when another customer comes into the store. “Seriously, though, what are you doing here?”
“I told you; I’m rescuing you. So clock out and come on.”
“I can’t just…leave.”
“Why not?” Quinn asks, picking up a scarf and running it through her fingers. “I know for a fact that Finn’s in charge tonight and we both know you have him wrapped around your little finger. Just show him a little cleave and we’ll be in the clear.”
“Ew,” Santana scoffs. “I’m not whoring myself out just to go…where are we going exactly?”
“Puck’s got a gig at The Bronco,” Quinn says casually, shrugging. “I just figured we’d give him some support.”
“You just figured that you’d spend the night humping him with your eyes, asshole. I know you, remember?”
“I know you too. And that means knowing you’d do anything for your one and only best friend,” Quinn says, batting her eyelashes. “Especially if booze is involved.”
Santana is not convinced.
Quinn raises an eyebrow. “And if you don’t go I’ll tell Mrs. Lopez who you really spent the night with last Thursday.”
Santana narrows her eyes. “Fine,” she mutters.
Quinn laughs freely. “That’s what I thought,” she says, backing away and out of the store. “Haul ass Lopez. I don’t have all day.”
--
Ten minutes later, Santana’s hopping into Quinn’s car and pulling on her seatbelt.
“Two more minutes and I was leaving your ass,” the blonde says, shifting the car into drive and pulling off.
“Whatever,” Santana mumbles, rolling her eyes. She reaches into the middle console compartment and thumbs through Quinn’s (and hers) burned CD collection, pulling out a disc and putting it into the player.
Quinn groans aloud when the music starts floating out of her car’s speakers. “What is it with you and the Alanis Morrisette phase? Like, get out of the 90s already.”
“Shut your mouth, Q. This stuff is like, timeless.”
Quinn watches Santana check her vibrating cell phone. “So is Nirvana’s Nevermind but you don’t see me blasting that shit every day.”
“Just drive, Q,” Santana says with a sigh, tucking her phone back into her sweatshirt pocket and turning to look out of the window.
The blonde’s quiet for a while, pensive. “If you want me to be with you when you tell her, you know I will be, right?”
Santana keeps her eyes on the passing scenery. “I know.”
“Hell, I’ll even say I am too. She already thinks I’m the reason you swear and drink, I might as well pull off the trifecta.”
That gets a smile out of Santana. “Thanks but no thanks. If her reaction is anywhere near where I think it’s going to be, I wouldn’t risk your safety. I’m her daughter so she won’t touch me, but you…”
“Just saying,” Quinn shrugs, keeping her eyes straight ahead. “Besides, we’re assuming the worst here. She could have a reaction like mine.”
“Q?”
Quinn takes a long pull on the joint they’re sharing, eyes already twice glazed over.
She’s baked.
“Hmm?”
Santana’s words fail her. “Ihafta tellyousomethin’,” she says, her words running together like they’re sprinting after one another to a finish line.
Quinn hands her back the joint, letting her body relax against the ground. They’re in Quinn’s backyard, the stars shining bright above them. “So tell me.”
Santana takes a deep breath and forgets to let it out, so that when she finally does speak it’s almost like she’s gasping for air. “I think I may be kinda gay.”
The Latina waits with bated breath for Quinn’s response.
The other girl blinks once, slowly.
“You think you can make tiramisu in an Easy Bake Oven?”
Santana gapes at her. “What?”
“Tiramisu?” Quinn repeats, turning her head to look at her. “You know that cake with the creamy stuff inside it. My Nana makes it. You think we could make it in an Easy Bake Oven or would the gooey stuff just run all over the place?”
“Q,” Santana starts, not quite believing her ears. “I just told you the most important thing, that I’m,” she lowers her voice slightly, not actually realizing that she was being loud in the first place. “…gay and all you can think about is tiramisu?”
“’Course not. I heard you. And after I get my cake we’re gonna go online and find some gay bars and stuff but right now, I really wants me some tiramisu,” the blonde says, pushing herself to her feet and holding out a hand for Santana.
The other girl takes it, biting back a smile and slowly shaking her head.
“Your little sister was so pissed we broke her Easy Bake Oven,” Santana laughs, letting the memory wash over her.
“Whatever,” Quinn shrugs, smiling too. “That little snot deserved it for telling Dad that the funny smell coming from the basement wasn’t incense.”
--
“You’re early,” Puck comments, sidling over to the girls as another band warms up. He grins at Quinn.
She shrugs. “It wasn’t intentional,” she murmurs, feigning disinterest. “Santana here just lurves her some free liquor.”
“Shut up, Q,” Santana mutters, putting down her shot glass and motioning to the bartender for another.
“You didn’t say ‘hi’, egghead,” Quinn admonishes Puck, slapping his forearm lightly - an excuse to touch him really.
Puck rolls his eyes but peeks over the girl’s shoulder to Santana. “What’s up Lopez?”
“Noah,” Santana replies curtly, not paying him too much attention.
“I got you guys a table,” Puck says, sticking out his chest proudly. “It’s in the back and all but it’s still reserved. I’m coming up in the world.”
“Look out world,” Santana deadpans, snickering loudly and Quinn chuckles too, rubbing his arm in consolation.
“You’re gonna do great babe,” Quinn tells him, squeezing his arm and kissing him on the cheek, the lips.
Puck brightens at that and stumbles away, euphoric, and Santana simulates gagging.
“Why are you so mean to him?” Quinn says, finally taking her eyes off the boy.
“I’m not. I’m just balancing it out because his ego inflates every time you say anything to him. Gotta keep the guy grounded,” Santana says, holding her beer bottle.
“You know what your problem is?” Quinn says, getting up and pulling the other girl from the bar, carrying her beer back with them.
“Nope, but, I bet another shot you’re gonna tell me.”
“You won’t come out all the way because you’ve never been in a serious relationship with another girl.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Santana shrugs off.
“No it’s not. Think about it,” Quinn says, sitting down at their table, Santana sitting across from her. “You won’t tell your mom because what if you do and this all turns out to be some kind of phase? Some foray into the land of carpet-munchers spawned from too many episodes of Skins.”
“You’re crazy,” the other girl dismisses.
“It’s not that crazy,” Quinn says, taking a swig of her beer. “And even though you won’t say it I know I’m right.”
Santana just rolls her eyes and takes another drink of her beer.
--
Even though she really hates to admit it, Puck’s band is pretty good.
And as much as she really, really, hates to admit this, Quinn was dead on earlier.
She’s terrified of finding out that she’s not what she thinks she is.
It’s like she feels like she knows, she’s pretty sure she knows, but then again she doesn’t know, you know?
Oh shit.
She’s kinda drunk.
“Drunk confession time,” she mumbles, her mouth feeling like its moving through its own volition.
Quinn looks away from the boy on stage for a moment, cutting her gaze to her best friend. “Shoot.”
“I’ve never actually kissed a girl before.”
Quinn’s face scrunches up in confusion. “Yes you have. I know for a fact that you’ve kissed a girl.”
“You don’t count,” Santana says.
“But what about the girl last week?”
Oh yes, the person Santana spent last Thursday night with.
Her first actual date with another gay girl.
It had gone well, unbelievably well, and as they were saying good night (the girl: inside her car, the driver’s side window rolled down. Santana: standing just beside that door, eyes gazing endlessly into the other girl’s) she chickened out, mumbling a quick “See you, later” and feeling like such a pussy that she didn’t go over to Quinn’s place after like they’d planned, opting to spend the night in their old tree-house instead.
“She wanted me to kiss her,” Santana mumbles miserably, propping her elbow up on the table and resting her head on her hand. “I could tell she did. But I just…punked out.”
Quinn makes a noise in the back of her throat, much like the one the doctors make during a physical. Then she breaks into a wide grin. “Well, then, we’ll just have to remedy that.”
Santana knows that look all too well. “I don’t think I like where this is going.”
Quinn grabs her hand and yanks her up, moving swiftly to the entrance of the club. When they get there, she turns so that she’s standing directly in front of the other girl, her hands resting on her shoulders.
“Do you trust me?” she asks.
Santana shrugs. “As far as I can throw you.”
“That’ll work,” Quinn nods. “Now, here’s what you’re going to do. The very next girl that comes into this bar, you’re going to walk over to her and plant one on her.”
Drunk Santana no follow.
“Plant what on her?”
“A kiss, duh,” Quinn says, rolling her eyes.
Santana’s eyes widen. “Whoa. No.”
“What? Why? Three reasons.”
“I can give you four.”
Quinn nods, raising an eyebrow. “Go.”
“Um…let’s see. One: I’ve never done it before. Two: hello. Stranger,” she mockingly waves her hand here. “Three: I’m drunk as hell….” she trails off.
“And four?”
Santana frowns. “I don’t want to.”
“Those aren’t good enough. Look, you need to do this. Get it over with and out of your system and if you get loco in your pants then, yeah, maybe there’s something to this gay thing. Plus, if whoever it is tries to deck you, I got your back.”
Santana’s fuzzy logic accepts this but mostly because Quinn’s talking too fast for her to keep up. She nods half-heartedly and Quinn grins, moving aside.
--
It takes about ten minutes but the doors to the Bronco finally swing open and Santana’s heart just about explodes out of her chest she’s so anxious, but she lets out a breath in relief when some lanky Asian boy struts in.
She nearly collapses she’s so relieved but he’s holding the door open and in behind him walks the most gorgeous girl she’s ever seen, like ever.
And she’s known Quinn her whole life so that’s saying something.
She almost forgets about what she’s supposed to do she’s staring so hard, but then Quinn’s clearing her throat and giving her a look and she remembers instantly.
It takes a couple of steps but within seconds she’s standing in front of the girl, blocking her path and reaching out shaking hands to grasp onto bare shoulders.
She watches the bluest eyes widen in surprise but she just swallows, closing her own and leaning in.
--
It lasts longer than she expects it to but she thinks maybe the stranger girl pushes away before she pulls away and Santana’s stumbling back unsteadily, too much liquor swimming in her system.
“Please don’t hit me,” she mumbles, looking to the shocked girl in front of her.
“What’d you do that for?” the girl asks, her eyes darting over to her friend. He just shrugs. Santana’s kind of thrown off because if that had been her and some random person just up and kissed her she’d punch first and ask questions later. But the girl in front of her doesn’t look angry, just shocked; completely and utterly shocked.
“My friend…she said…and then you…” Santana can’t find the words to explain herself and thankfully Quinn steps in, coming to her friend’s aide.
“It was a bet,” she says, throwing an arm around the Latina. “You know, make out with the next person who steps into the bar.”
“Oh,” the girl says, and she sounds almost…disappointed, her shoulders falling. “I thought,” she licks her lips, running a hand through her hair, her long, golden hair. “Well, it doesn’t matter what I thought.”
Santana’s heart is beating so loud that’s it’s drowning out almost all other sound and all she can hear is the other girl, the stranger she’s just randomly kissed. “What did you think?”
The girl’s eyes find hers. She shrugs. “I thought…well, I thought maybe you liked me. And I know, yeah, it’s crazy because you don’t even know me, so like, how could you and I’m just gonna stop talking now,” the blonde mumbles, her cheeks aflame. “Um, yeah. Bye.”
The blonde grabs for her friend’s elbow and the boy is bemused even though he kind of glares at Santana and Santana’s so shocked now that she doesn’t know what to do or how to move or what to say-
“Wait!”
Quinn, the blonde and her friend all jump.
“Jesus, Santana,” Quinn hisses, her hand pressed against her chest. “Indoor voice.”
“I’m sorry,” Santana mumbles, ducking from under Quinn’s arm and walking over to the other girl. “And what if I do? Like you that is?” she asks shyly, her foot tapping restless against the hardwood floor as she stands, waiting.
The girl smiles and drops her friend’s arm, reaching for Santana’s hand, holding it in her left hand, palm side-up. She pulls a pen out of her front pocket and scribbles something there, curling the Latina’s fingers over it when she’s done. “Then do something about it,” the blonde coyly says, her smile more flirtatious this time. She takes her friend’s elbow and he chuckles softly before moving with her into the club, ducking in with the rest of the patrons.
Quinn waits until they’re gone before racing over and grabbing Santana’s hand, reading what’s written upside down, and not bothering to speak to her because Santana - yeah, she’s on cloud nine or something.
Ten digits are scrawled below a name:
Brittany.
Quinn looks at her. “Best. Friend. Ever.”
--
A Shot At Love
Pairing(s): Brittany/Santana, Santana/Quinn friendship, briefe reference to Mike/Brittany friendship
Rating: PG-13 (some swear words)
Spoilers: All episodes (Just covering my ass).
Disclaimer: Don’t own. Just borrowing. (Again, covering my ass.)
Summary: In any universe, regardless of the circumstances, Brittany and Santana are inevitable. Watch me prove it.
--
“Thanks for shopping with us. Have a nice day.”
Santana handed the lady her change and then promptly unscrewed her jaw, her face morphing from a cheeky grin to a grimace.
She hated working in this stupid store with these stupid customers and these stupid store managers with a tendency to walk into inanimate objects.
Actually, there’s only one store manager that does that.
One more year she thinks, rolling her eyes as the automatic doors chime, signaling yet another patron.
“Well, I don’t know what that look’s for.”
Santana pauses mid-frown and then smiles wide, her eyes finding another pair glittering in amusement.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to rescue you,” Quinn says, walking over and pulling a pair of sunglasses off of a mannequin. “These are kind of cute.”
Santana nods. “They look good on you.”
“How much are they?”
“Eighteen fifty.”
Quinn promptly drops the glasses. “They’re not that cute.”
Santana snickers, eyes darting up when another customer comes into the store. “Seriously, though, what are you doing here?”
“I told you; I’m rescuing you. So clock out and come on.”
“I can’t just…leave.”
“Why not?” Quinn asks, picking up a scarf and running it through her fingers. “I know for a fact that Finn’s in charge tonight and we both know you have him wrapped around your little finger. Just show him a little cleave and we’ll be in the clear.”
“Ew,” Santana scoffs. “I’m not whoring myself out just to go…where are we going exactly?”
“Puck’s got a gig at The Bronco,” Quinn says casually, shrugging. “I just figured we’d give him some support.”
“You just figured that you’d spend the night humping him with your eyes, asshole. I know you, remember?”
“I know you too. And that means knowing you’d do anything for your one and only best friend,” Quinn says, batting her eyelashes. “Especially if booze is involved.”
Santana is not convinced.
Quinn raises an eyebrow. “And if you don’t go I’ll tell Mrs. Lopez who you really spent the night with last Thursday.”
Santana narrows her eyes. “Fine,” she mutters.
Quinn laughs freely. “That’s what I thought,” she says, backing away and out of the store. “Haul ass Lopez. I don’t have all day.”
--
Ten minutes later, Santana’s hopping into Quinn’s car and pulling on her seatbelt.
“Two more minutes and I was leaving your ass,” the blonde says, shifting the car into drive and pulling off.
“Whatever,” Santana mumbles, rolling her eyes. She reaches into the middle console compartment and thumbs through Quinn’s (and hers) burned CD collection, pulling out a disc and putting it into the player.
Quinn groans aloud when the music starts floating out of her car’s speakers. “What is it with you and the Alanis Morrisette phase? Like, get out of the 90s already.”
“Shut your mouth, Q. This stuff is like, timeless.”
Quinn watches Santana check her vibrating cell phone. “So is Nirvana’s Nevermind but you don’t see me blasting that shit every day.”
“Just drive, Q,” Santana says with a sigh, tucking her phone back into her sweatshirt pocket and turning to look out of the window.
The blonde’s quiet for a while, pensive. “If you want me to be with you when you tell her, you know I will be, right?”
Santana keeps her eyes on the passing scenery. “I know.”
“Hell, I’ll even say I am too. She already thinks I’m the reason you swear and drink, I might as well pull off the trifecta.”
That gets a smile out of Santana. “Thanks but no thanks. If her reaction is anywhere near where I think it’s going to be, I wouldn’t risk your safety. I’m her daughter so she won’t touch me, but you…”
“Just saying,” Quinn shrugs, keeping her eyes straight ahead. “Besides, we’re assuming the worst here. She could have a reaction like mine.”
“Q?”
Quinn takes a long pull on the joint they’re sharing, eyes already twice glazed over.
She’s baked.
“Hmm?”
Santana’s words fail her. “Ihafta tellyousomethin’,” she says, her words running together like they’re sprinting after one another to a finish line.
Quinn hands her back the joint, letting her body relax against the ground. They’re in Quinn’s backyard, the stars shining bright above them. “So tell me.”
Santana takes a deep breath and forgets to let it out, so that when she finally does speak it’s almost like she’s gasping for air. “I think I may be kinda gay.”
The Latina waits with bated breath for Quinn’s response.
The other girl blinks once, slowly.
“You think you can make tiramisu in an Easy Bake Oven?”
Santana gapes at her. “What?”
“Tiramisu?” Quinn repeats, turning her head to look at her. “You know that cake with the creamy stuff inside it. My Nana makes it. You think we could make it in an Easy Bake Oven or would the gooey stuff just run all over the place?”
“Q,” Santana starts, not quite believing her ears. “I just told you the most important thing, that I’m,” she lowers her voice slightly, not actually realizing that she was being loud in the first place. “…gay and all you can think about is tiramisu?”
“’Course not. I heard you. And after I get my cake we’re gonna go online and find some gay bars and stuff but right now, I really wants me some tiramisu,” the blonde says, pushing herself to her feet and holding out a hand for Santana.
The other girl takes it, biting back a smile and slowly shaking her head.
“Your little sister was so pissed we broke her Easy Bake Oven,” Santana laughs, letting the memory wash over her.
“Whatever,” Quinn shrugs, smiling too. “That little snot deserved it for telling Dad that the funny smell coming from the basement wasn’t incense.”
--
“You’re early,” Puck comments, sidling over to the girls as another band warms up. He grins at Quinn.
She shrugs. “It wasn’t intentional,” she murmurs, feigning disinterest. “Santana here just lurves her some free liquor.”
“Shut up, Q,” Santana mutters, putting down her shot glass and motioning to the bartender for another.
“You didn’t say ‘hi’, egghead,” Quinn admonishes Puck, slapping his forearm lightly - an excuse to touch him really.
Puck rolls his eyes but peeks over the girl’s shoulder to Santana. “What’s up Lopez?”
“Noah,” Santana replies curtly, not paying him too much attention.
“I got you guys a table,” Puck says, sticking out his chest proudly. “It’s in the back and all but it’s still reserved. I’m coming up in the world.”
“Look out world,” Santana deadpans, snickering loudly and Quinn chuckles too, rubbing his arm in consolation.
“You’re gonna do great babe,” Quinn tells him, squeezing his arm and kissing him on the cheek, the lips.
Puck brightens at that and stumbles away, euphoric, and Santana simulates gagging.
“Why are you so mean to him?” Quinn says, finally taking her eyes off the boy.
“I’m not. I’m just balancing it out because his ego inflates every time you say anything to him. Gotta keep the guy grounded,” Santana says, holding her beer bottle.
“You know what your problem is?” Quinn says, getting up and pulling the other girl from the bar, carrying her beer back with them.
“Nope, but, I bet another shot you’re gonna tell me.”
“You won’t come out all the way because you’ve never been in a serious relationship with another girl.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Santana shrugs off.
“No it’s not. Think about it,” Quinn says, sitting down at their table, Santana sitting across from her. “You won’t tell your mom because what if you do and this all turns out to be some kind of phase? Some foray into the land of carpet-munchers spawned from too many episodes of Skins.”
“You’re crazy,” the other girl dismisses.
“It’s not that crazy,” Quinn says, taking a swig of her beer. “And even though you won’t say it I know I’m right.”
Santana just rolls her eyes and takes another drink of her beer.
--
Even though she really hates to admit it, Puck’s band is pretty good.
And as much as she really, really, hates to admit this, Quinn was dead on earlier.
She’s terrified of finding out that she’s not what she thinks she is.
It’s like she feels like she knows, she’s pretty sure she knows, but then again she doesn’t know, you know?
Oh shit.
She’s kinda drunk.
“Drunk confession time,” she mumbles, her mouth feeling like its moving through its own volition.
Quinn looks away from the boy on stage for a moment, cutting her gaze to her best friend. “Shoot.”
“I’ve never actually kissed a girl before.”
Quinn’s face scrunches up in confusion. “Yes you have. I know for a fact that you’ve kissed a girl.”
“You don’t count,” Santana says.
“But what about the girl last week?”
Oh yes, the person Santana spent last Thursday night with.
Her first actual date with another gay girl.
It had gone well, unbelievably well, and as they were saying good night (the girl: inside her car, the driver’s side window rolled down. Santana: standing just beside that door, eyes gazing endlessly into the other girl’s) she chickened out, mumbling a quick “See you, later” and feeling like such a pussy that she didn’t go over to Quinn’s place after like they’d planned, opting to spend the night in their old tree-house instead.
“She wanted me to kiss her,” Santana mumbles miserably, propping her elbow up on the table and resting her head on her hand. “I could tell she did. But I just…punked out.”
Quinn makes a noise in the back of her throat, much like the one the doctors make during a physical. Then she breaks into a wide grin. “Well, then, we’ll just have to remedy that.”
Santana knows that look all too well. “I don’t think I like where this is going.”
Quinn grabs her hand and yanks her up, moving swiftly to the entrance of the club. When they get there, she turns so that she’s standing directly in front of the other girl, her hands resting on her shoulders.
“Do you trust me?” she asks.
Santana shrugs. “As far as I can throw you.”
“That’ll work,” Quinn nods. “Now, here’s what you’re going to do. The very next girl that comes into this bar, you’re going to walk over to her and plant one on her.”
Drunk Santana no follow.
“Plant what on her?”
“A kiss, duh,” Quinn says, rolling her eyes.
Santana’s eyes widen. “Whoa. No.”
“What? Why? Three reasons.”
“I can give you four.”
Quinn nods, raising an eyebrow. “Go.”
“Um…let’s see. One: I’ve never done it before. Two: hello. Stranger,” she mockingly waves her hand here. “Three: I’m drunk as hell….” she trails off.
“And four?”
Santana frowns. “I don’t want to.”
“Those aren’t good enough. Look, you need to do this. Get it over with and out of your system and if you get loco in your pants then, yeah, maybe there’s something to this gay thing. Plus, if whoever it is tries to deck you, I got your back.”
Santana’s fuzzy logic accepts this but mostly because Quinn’s talking too fast for her to keep up. She nods half-heartedly and Quinn grins, moving aside.
--
It takes about ten minutes but the doors to the Bronco finally swing open and Santana’s heart just about explodes out of her chest she’s so anxious, but she lets out a breath in relief when some lanky Asian boy struts in.
She nearly collapses she’s so relieved but he’s holding the door open and in behind him walks the most gorgeous girl she’s ever seen, like ever.
And she’s known Quinn her whole life so that’s saying something.
She almost forgets about what she’s supposed to do she’s staring so hard, but then Quinn’s clearing her throat and giving her a look and she remembers instantly.
It takes a couple of steps but within seconds she’s standing in front of the girl, blocking her path and reaching out shaking hands to grasp onto bare shoulders.
She watches the bluest eyes widen in surprise but she just swallows, closing her own and leaning in.
--
It lasts longer than she expects it to but she thinks maybe the stranger girl pushes away before she pulls away and Santana’s stumbling back unsteadily, too much liquor swimming in her system.
“Please don’t hit me,” she mumbles, looking to the shocked girl in front of her.
“What’d you do that for?” the girl asks, her eyes darting over to her friend. He just shrugs. Santana’s kind of thrown off because if that had been her and some random person just up and kissed her she’d punch first and ask questions later. But the girl in front of her doesn’t look angry, just shocked; completely and utterly shocked.
“My friend…she said…and then you…” Santana can’t find the words to explain herself and thankfully Quinn steps in, coming to her friend’s aide.
“It was a bet,” she says, throwing an arm around the Latina. “You know, make out with the next person who steps into the bar.”
“Oh,” the girl says, and she sounds almost…disappointed, her shoulders falling. “I thought,” she licks her lips, running a hand through her hair, her long, golden hair. “Well, it doesn’t matter what I thought.”
Santana’s heart is beating so loud that’s it’s drowning out almost all other sound and all she can hear is the other girl, the stranger she’s just randomly kissed. “What did you think?”
The girl’s eyes find hers. She shrugs. “I thought…well, I thought maybe you liked me. And I know, yeah, it’s crazy because you don’t even know me, so like, how could you and I’m just gonna stop talking now,” the blonde mumbles, her cheeks aflame. “Um, yeah. Bye.”
The blonde grabs for her friend’s elbow and the boy is bemused even though he kind of glares at Santana and Santana’s so shocked now that she doesn’t know what to do or how to move or what to say-
“Wait!”
Quinn, the blonde and her friend all jump.
“Jesus, Santana,” Quinn hisses, her hand pressed against her chest. “Indoor voice.”
“I’m sorry,” Santana mumbles, ducking from under Quinn’s arm and walking over to the other girl. “And what if I do? Like you that is?” she asks shyly, her foot tapping restless against the hardwood floor as she stands, waiting.
The girl smiles and drops her friend’s arm, reaching for Santana’s hand, holding it in her left hand, palm side-up. She pulls a pen out of her front pocket and scribbles something there, curling the Latina’s fingers over it when she’s done. “Then do something about it,” the blonde coyly says, her smile more flirtatious this time. She takes her friend’s elbow and he chuckles softly before moving with her into the club, ducking in with the rest of the patrons.
Quinn waits until they’re gone before racing over and grabbing Santana’s hand, reading what’s written upside down, and not bothering to speak to her because Santana - yeah, she’s on cloud nine or something.
Ten digits are scrawled below a name:
Brittany.
Quinn looks at her. “Best. Friend. Ever.”
--
A Shot At Love